“And you were not relieved?”
“I felt that the only man was gone out of the world—I mean, my lord, the only man who can save Atlantis.”
“Your words give me a confidence. Then you would have me go back and become husband to Phorenice?”
“If there is no other way.”
“I warn you I shall do that, if she still so desires it, and if it seems to me that that course will be best. This is no hour for private likings or dislikings.”
“I know it,” she said, “I feel it. I have no heart now, save only for Atlantis. I have schooled myself once more to that.”
“And at present I am in this lone little box of a temple. A minute ago, before you came, I had promised myself a pretty enough fight to signalise my changing of abode.”
“There must be nothing of that. I will not have these poor people slaughtered unnecessarily. Nor do I wish to see my lord exposed to a hopeless risk. This poor place, such as it is, has been given to me as an abode, and, if my lord can remain decorously till nightfall in a maiden’s chamber, he may at least be sure of quietude. I am a person,” she added simply, “that in this camp has some respect. When darkness comes, I will take my lord down to the sea and a boat, and so he may come with ease to the harbour and the watergate.”